They were all much happier when he wasn’t in the house, and that wasn’t right. She wished she knew what to do. She kept remembering Martin the way he used to be, good-natured and always making jokes. Sometimes even now he was like that, but more often than not he seemed to be trying to control himself, as though seeing them all together and being shut up with them was more than he could bear. And on the weekend he went off for walks by himself, long walks that kept him out for hours. There was a lot of strain in the house. She felt constantly anxious, as though something terrible might happen, or as though she had done something terrible and might be found out. And all because of this little room. She was sure it was all because of this little room. It was bewildering to know that you started out helping somebody, agreeing with somebody about an ordinary private matter — a room to lie down in when he came in late — and you ended up building a wall that went on forever and that would never come to an end, because you made it stronger every day, without wanting to and without being able to stop yourself. She was constantly trying to keep her thoughts from going in this direction, because she became lost in their confusion, so that instead of reaching the words she wanted, and instead of being able to find the words that would explain everything she felt to Martin, she felt herself becoming incoherent, and she felt herself beginning to smother with anger, and then all she wanted was to run away and not make any explanations to anybody, and not listen to anybody’s explanations. No, Martin was too clever for her. He was always able to shut her up. And yet it wasn’t his words she minded so much as his silence. There were times when she thought Martin’s clever silence might drive her out of her mind.

There was no use trying to think things out. Her ability to think was destroyed by strong feelings that stopped her easily because they were so much stronger than she was. Mrs. Bagot’s feelings towered like ancestors, like reminders of a past that she could not remember but that she must remember if she was to get control of herself. These huge feelings, which appeared shrouded, triumphant, and ugly, were what she must face up to before she could face up to Martin. There was no use trying to speak to him if she was going to start gibbering. She did not know where to start.